


What happened then, stays then

by Helashotashades



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, I feel it’s necessary to mention that doors are a huge recurring theme, I have good reasons for an attempted child killing?, I just appreciate his usefulness as a plot device, I steal ideas I probably stole one of your headcanons I’m sorry, I swear I’ve been on this site too long, I think Egypt is super OP who’s with me, M/M, Manipulation, Mediterranean Family, Mpreg (possibly?), also the child is sold (in a non-sexual way), aww so cute, crap I forgot the whole attempted baby killing, everyone dies, how could I forget an attempted child killing is something that does bother people, i am considering removing the fluff tag, i hope nobody actually read all these, is this door symbolism prostitution, mentions of ancient Egyptian mythology, mentions of rape/non-con, no seriously, oh god I’m a door pimp, stop at chapter two for a mildly happy ending, the next chapter is the Cold War and all the death, to Italy actually, umm yeah gl, whoops my hand slipped its gone, yeah so heads up there’s an attempted filicide, you finally find out that my summary isn’t complete bs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-19 15:39:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17604128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helashotashades/pseuds/Helashotashades
Summary: Egypt browses his memories of Turkey and Greece’s relationship  while bathing in a lake of fire in the Duat.





	1. Cyprus

Egypt knows that Cyprus doesn’t know about the circumstances surrounding his birth. He made sure of it himself. 

He makes sure a lot of people forget a lot of things. His mother believed that each new day was a new world and to some extent, she was right. The minds of those who live for such a long time can be influenced, even hobbled, slowly, with each ‘new universe’.

Usually, some notable events make it possible to forgo the slow route, and give an opportunity for Egypt to meddle a little bit. 

Cyprus has no recollection of how he was born, or who his birth parents were. 

Greece doesn’t either.

As far as Turkey knows, he and the Ottoman Empire and the Seljuks were completely different personifications.

Egypt remembers, though. 

Imposing, red door, sharp veins of gold running through the surface in rectangular patterns. Screams of pain. The sounds of skin on skin and Egypt wonders if it’s because Turkey is beating Greece or taking him. Perhaps both, Turkey is so incensed at Greece taking Italy’s side. He doesn’t know. He’ll find out by tomorrow, he thinks, and forces himself to walk away. 

Tomorrow comes and with it, a wooden door, green panels surrounding white rectangles. Sobbing comes from behind it, and Egypt pushes the door open easily. A luxurious bedspread, soft silk, is peeled away to reveal a bruised face, eyes red from sleeplessness and crying. Legs twitch jerkily away from each other as Greece wriggles towards Egypt, seeking comfort. Egypt wraps his arms around Greece as well, tears forcing their way down his cheeks, only to be soaked into the mattress. 

Heavy, lacquered door, curvy emerald green and blue and silver. Guards stand watch in front of it. He raises his hand to knock and a pale hand opens it quickly and yanks him in. Greece’s face is red and blotchy, and he is clutching a small burlap sack as he pulls Egypt in. 

Cold steel door, hard and unyielding. Screams come from in front of Egypt, but his back is pressed solidly against the door. The doctor is pale, and Egypt wonders whether it’s from to shock of a country birth, the tight grip Greece has on his arm, that he must deliver the child, or perhaps the unspoken threat that he cannot speak of it to anyone or Egypt will kill him. 

Hard, iron reinforcement atop a hardwood frame. The lock will not open, and Egypt whispers a quick, “Nu”, to the lock, and slams his body against it, the lock creaking against his weight. He rams the door again, and this time it swings open, revealing a sobbing Greece, a knife, and a baby. It is too much for Egypt, who rushes in to snatch the child. 

A cold, absent, white door stands in front of Egypt as he carries the swaddled baby to it. It reaches up to try and snatch an lock of hair, and Egypt smiles down at it fondly. He knocks, with no answer. The door is rudely forced open, and Egypt strides inside angrily, yanking Greece up and forcing him to stand. 

It is hard, Egypt thinks, to understand Greece’s motives, though here it is crystal clear. It is not shame of birthing an unhealthy boy, nor even the shame of birthing. Egypt knows that the child is perfect in every way, even by Greece’s standards. It is fear of the devşirme. ‘With your shield or on it!’, Egypt knows, and as the child of the Empire, the babe will be forced to become an official or an officer for the Empire once it is old enough, it is a shame for Greece. But Egypt has always been far more survival-oriented, and if it were his child, and it might as well be, he would give him up in a heartbeat to keep him alive. 

Richly ornamented, gold and rich blue lapis lazuli paint, the door is heavy with inlaid jewels and relief carvings. Egypt brings the small nation of Venice the baby. The child, really, that is what Venice is, squeals in delight, and says that he will be the best big brother ever. Egypt almost feels bad that he is counting on the Empire to sweep in and take him back. 

Worn, white door. The Empire slams it open, screaming at Greece, screaming about killing his child. Egypt takes his staff, granted with the Empire’s trust, and swings, first at Greece and then the Empire, knocking them out. It is easy to set the tip of his staff on the Empire’s forehead and erase any suspicions. Greece’s mind is far more frenetic, and Egypt settles into mechanically taking memories of the past few years, replacing them with a feverish haze. 

Warm, wooden door, covered in red and white lacquer. The Empire strides in merrily and sets a young child down into Greece’s lap, and laughs in response to Greece’s confused stare, “He’s closer to you. Take care of him for me, will ya?” Egypt is gratified to see the light of love and adoration that had not been there the first time. 

It’s a cold, glass barrier, the one that Egypt is behind. It’s a custody battle, and he is not allowed in, even though his own independence from Britain and close relations with those in the room should have earned him a spot. But for now he is content to watch. The second Britain says, “In our judgement, due to population factors, Greece—“ Turkey punches Britain, hard, and has to be dragged away by Canada, Finland, and Ireland. Greece is beaming, and Egypt thinks something vaguely along the lines of ‘Good, Greece is happy!’ and ‘I hope Turkey doesn’t take it too hard.’


	2. TRNC

TRNC knows who his birth parents are, and Egypt made sure of that. 

Under what circumstances, Egypt isn’t about to tell him the details, but he’s happy to tell him that Turkey and Greece were on better terms than before— he was a child born of conflict, he knows, but he was born of peace rather than violence, Egypt stresses. 

Intricate, lacquered, hardwood door. Turkey is behind it— Egypt knows what kinds of sounds those are— ones of abject misery, but he still hasn’t the heart to say goodbye before Britain drags him off. Turkey was a vicious asshole, but he has some redeeming value. Egypt will be sad to go. 

Paint peeling, and glowing warmth behind a clear glass panel, and Egypt walks in, laughing and smiling, the happiness infectious— Greece is even smiling and twirling Italy about. Turkey never comes to these. He’s never invited. Each year, Armenia is put in charge of sending out invites, and each year, Turkey’s invitation gets ‘lost in the mail’. 

Cold, impersonal glass and impeccable modern style. Cyprus, the poor boy, is clinging to Egypt, and just as Egypt is about to leave, the door opens and Turkey asks him to take Cyprus to the park for a little bit, since he is swamped with work, which Egypt is ready to call bullshit on until a vaguely familiar voice shouts, “HEY! OLD MAN! YOU TOO OLD TO GET IT UP NOW OR WHAT?” If Egypt were any other country, he might have had a nosebleed or leered, but he stares at Turkey, nods a sharp, “I see.”, and almost drags Cyprus out of hearing range.

There is almost a sort of sick-fascinated taboo on asking, Egypt thinks. There is the thick taste of yogurt and chickpea stuck in the back of his throat, and the savory blend of red pepper, lamb, and garlic on his tongue, Armenia looks ready to spontaneously combust, Italy chatters to him obliviously, but the most distracting thing is the bright red, lobster-esque quality of Greece’s face, and Turkey’s Cheshire grin. Cyprus seems oblivious to it all, wondering why neither of them are talking. Egypt thinks that Cyprus will be a very good peacemaker when he grows. 

 

The door to the room is shut tight, and Egypt is quickly pulled in, a feeling of— oh, how do the French say— deja vu settling over him, but this time is different. They seem happy. There is a glow to Turkey as he announces that Turkey will bear healthier, smarter, stronger children than Greece. They start fighting again, but it’s not like before. 

The imposing wooden doors and the gold filigree hide nothing unexpected, or nerve-wracking importance. Cyprus will be declared independent of Greece, and the new Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus will stay with Turkey. It is only a hearing to see who recognizes each as a country. Egypt wishes, hopes desperately that his boss will recognize the little nation, but such things are not meant to be. It breaks his heart to see TRNC clutching desperately into Turkey when the doors open and everyone comes pouring out.


	3. Back to Life

Egypt grimaces, even as his eyes remain painfully closed, as he forces his consciousness to stay in the memories. 

The shadowed doorway of the ruins hides Egypt from sight as Greece looks at America, a glimmer of something in his eye. Hope, inspiration, whatever, it doesn’t matter. The look in America’s eyes screams powerlust. 

The door is plain and wooden, no deterrent to other nations. Greece is writhing in pain in the bed, restrained to the teeth, as Russia and America loom overhead, glaring at each other. A bouquet is in Russia’s hand, as he deliberately makes a show of arranging the sunflowers nicely in a crystal vase by the bed. America smirks, gently leaning over to press a kiss to Greece’s forehead.  
‘Greece would hate that.’, Egypt thinks, as he sits silently. Turkey sits next to Egypt, conflict radiating off him in waves. After Russia and America leave, Turkey leaves a single jasmine flower on the table to wilt. 

This new door is solid steel, but Egypt doesn’t mind the security. He makes his way into the garage, a vaulted ceiling and a line of rocket launchers awaiting him. They aren’t Turkey’s, and they aren’t Egypt’s, but Turkey has never quite forgiven Russia. He’d ally himself with the stupid American over Russia, even if he’d taken Russia’s side (unofficially, of course) in the last conflict. Egypt doesn’t quite understand why. 

Behind the closed mahogany doors, Egypt understands now. His head is covered in bandages, and his body is sore. The war with Israel has taken more out of him than he cares to admit. America holds all the cards in this war, and so it is only a matter of survival. He goes to Russia, staff gripped tightly in his hand, to ask him to leave.  
Russia nods, leaving, footsteps quiet, thickly accented voice ringing, “Do not worry, comrade, of course survival is your priority. We will be back together, da?”

Locked doors, literal and figurative, have always been temporary. Egypt goes with it, earns trust as he waits for the door to rot and walks out. Greece must be chained to the wall first, but he sees when it is best to wait it out. Turkey does not take to captivity well. He rages, froth foaming from his mouth, slamming into the walls. They break eventually, just like everything, but Turkey, unlike Greece and Egypt, is set free to walk alone far earlier. He lives as a sick man, but he is free for now. 

Egypt pulls the barely-standing trapdoor out of his way, hinges being a thing of the past. He pulls the bodies with him into the tunnels, carrying two at a time. Mechanically, he brings one body to the room where Greece stays. He would be with them, searching, but he is in no state to walk, shards of bone poking out of his legs. Egypt navigates through the maze of tunnels, carrying the other body over his shoulders to the empty room where Turkey stays, when he does come. Egypt performs the funeral rites and brings the body to the burial chamber. He turns back, bringing more and more and more bodies, slowly, achingly slowly, but he reminds himself that each person deserved a proper burial. Turkey finds them at an alarmingly fast rate. He only hopes to find the bodies of Cyprus and TRNC. Egypt hadn’t the heart to tell them their children melted away like snowflakes soon after the fallout, so, painstakingly slowly, he wipes those memories as he moves corpses. 

Behind Egypt’s own closed door, which is and has always been warm cedar, he smiles under the water, as pain and hatred wash away, leaving behind bliss and nothing but the thump-thump-thump of his heart in his ears. Red waters part for Egypt this time, as he stands, slowly ascending, making his way out of the Duat, hour by hour, and wonders if Ma’at is out of balance because he spends a millenia in the upper world rather than twelve hours. It doesn’t matter anymore, what’s done is done, and he has been reborn again, and this time the world will be as lush and green as the previous was barren.

What has been shall stay where it has been.


End file.
